


Hesitance and Hunger

by kaistrex (weishen)



Series: Prompts [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Derek, Pining, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishen/pseuds/kaistrex
Summary: The visitor reaches the door and doesn’t hesitate to slide it open, revealing— Stiles. Derek’s fists unclench, his frown becoming raised eyebrows as Stiles heads straight for him.“I forgot something,” is the only explanation he offers before he places his hands on either side of Derek’s face and pulls him in for a kiss.Or: Five times Derek fends off an incubus and one time he gets the real thing.





	Hesitance and Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Sterek Week 2017 day 4 theme 'Mates'.  
> Just a quick warning for brief minor dubcon as an incubus tries to trick Derek into thinking he’s Stiles, but it doesn’t last very long or get very far.

Derek listens to Stiles’ jeep pull out of the lot below the loft, the last car to leave. The quiet always feels a bit eerie once the pack have gone, like the weighted hush of a library, and though he specifically chose the location because of distant neighbours, it always takes him a minute to adjust to the rare solitude he usually basks in.

He busies himself with collecting the glasses strewn around the room, Erica’s and Lydia’s easily distinguishable by the lipstick smears around the rims, and has just started to load them into the dishwasher when he catches a faint heartbeat approaching from the ground floor.

He pauses, listening, unable to place who it could belong to. He can’t assign it to any members of the pack, the only others (still alive) to have ever set foot inside the loft, but the approach is steady and sure. A stranger wouldn’t be so at ease.

He sets the final glass in the dishwasher and closes it up, eyes on the door as he waits. He doesn’t unsheathe his claws but it’s a near thing.

The visitor reaches the door and doesn’t hesitate to slide it open, revealing— Stiles. Derek’s fists unclench, his frown becoming raised eyebrows as Stiles heads straight for him.

“I forgot something,” is the only explanation he offers before he places his hands on either side of Derek’s face and pulls him in for a kiss.

Derek’s mind goes blank and when he manages to come back to himself, he’s whining high in his throat with Stiles pinned between him and the kitchen counter. They’re enveloped in the honeyed scent of lust that’s always reminded him of the specific shade of Stiles’ eyes. It’s a scent he’s caught wafting from him many times before, but never this potent. He’s drunk on it.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles is panting, over and over, and he sounds— he sounds _wrecked_. Like they've been at this for hours, like he never wants it to stop.

“Stiles, we can’t—” Derek gasps between kisses, but he reaches down and hoists Stiles up by his thighs anyway, setting him on the counter as Stiles’ legs lock around his waist. “We have to wait—”

“Shh. Don't stop, please don't stop,” Stiles begs, sliding his hands down to slip into the back pockets of Derek’s jeans and pull their hips flush together.

Derek goes pliant against him, the most restraint he can manage as Stiles’ hips roll against his, teeth grazing his earlobe. All he can think about is how perfectly they fit together like this, made for each other. _Mate_.

With that thought, he crumbles.

His hands rove to touch every inch he can reach as he finds Stiles’ lips again. He needs more, to feel skin against skin, but when his thumbs flit beneath Stiles t-shirt, he freezes.

He pulls back an inch, trying to work out the sudden squirming unease as Stiles takes the opportunity to mouth at his neck instead. A traitorous part of Derek’s brain has his head tilting back for more, even as it whirs to grasp the thread eluding him.

Something’s not right, something about Stiles’ t-shirt. It takes him a lot longer than it should to work out why that’s significant.

Five minutes ago, Stiles had been wearing his usual plaid-over-tee, red and grey check over black. Derek knows because Stiles had had the sleeves rolled up and Derek was barely able to tear his eyes away from the veins mapping his forearms. Now, the shirt is nowhere to be seen and his t-shirt is plain white.

With that realisation, it’s like the first domino toppling: he didn’t hear Stiles’ Jeep preceding his return, didn’t recognise the footsteps or the heartbeat approaching up the lift even though Derek could tap out the rhythm of Stiles’ at any given moment. It was all forgotten as soon as that scent hit his nose and Stiles distracted him with that kiss.

“Derek?” Stiles has a hand reaching out, his lips swollen, hair wild, pupils dilated. Derek did that to him. Only, it isn’t Stiles.

“ _Incubus_ ,” Derek hisses around a mouthful of fangs, claws popping ready to do damage.

Stiles slithers down from the counter, erection outlined at the front of his jeans, and Derek digs a fang into his lip, drawing blood.

“Derek, you don’t have to fight this,” Stiles coaxes, stepping closer.

Derek sways despite himself and it has nausea swirling in his stomach.

Stiles’ hands slide up his chest and round to cradle the back of his neck but Derek shoves him back.

“ _Don’t touch me_.”

He retreats further but the incubus follows, continuing in that same wheedling tone that’s making the hairs on Derek’s arms stand on end to hear it coming from Stiles’ mouth.

“It’s okay, Derek,” he breathes, almost as if his mouth is pressed close to Derek’s ear. It sends shivers up his spine of both the good and bad variety, but the thrall has weakened under his fury.

He grabs the incubus by the upper arms and slams him into the wall beside the fridge.

“You come into my _home?_ ” he all but roars, barely able to see through a haze of red.

The incubus’ mouth is open in that same way Stiles’ always is, offering a glimpse of the glistening wetness just inside. His gaze flickers between Derek’s eyes and lips, seeming unfazed by the Alpha werewolf coiled on the edge of violence with hands close to his throat.

Derek is reminded of that time in Stiles’ room two years ago when he pushed him into his bedroom wall, back when Stiles still had the cute buzzcut and was still scared of him. His eyes had been drawn to Derek’s lips then and it was the closest Derek’s ever come to breaking and revealing just what Stiles is to him.

After that, he vowed to never let himself get so close again, at least not before Stiles turned eighteen. Being faced with what he’s been aching for for the past two years, it’s crushing to see how weak that resolve really is.

As the red in his vision fades, all he can see is Stiles grimacing at pain Derek is inflicting as he squeezes his arms and he leaps back, retracting his claws. Shame courses through him even as he reminds himself it’s not really Stiles he was hurting.

“ _Get out._ ”

The incubus sighs, like it’s just experiencing a minor inconvenience, but it does start to head towards the door.

“Give it time. Soon you’ll be seeking me out,” it promises as it steps out the door.

“If I see you again, I’ll tear out your throat,” Derek hisses back.

“Could you do that to this face?” the incubus asks, fluttering his eyelashes.

Derek yanks the door shut with a snarl.

He listens to the incubus’ retreat, chest heaving with rage that has no avenue to escape. He’s unsettled, like there’s something crawling beneath his skin that he can’t cut out. The stink of the incubus is still lingering, clinging to his clothes and wafting around him as he tries to pace out his aggression. He tosses them straight in the wash, changing into a fresh set before opening every window in the loft and scaling down the side of the building from the balcony. He needs to run, mark out the perimeter of his territory and check on each member of the pack even though he knows the incubus bears them no threat. And if he happens to stand outside one house longer than any other, well, no one needs to know.

 

*

 

He doesn’t see Stiles again - the _real_ Stiles - until two days later. Lydia’s throwing a party for her eighteenth birthday, a much quieter affair than parties previous ever since the plunge into the world of the supernatural shook up her priorities and made her realise what — and who — truly mattered.

Derek had pre-empted any begging by declaring he wasn’t buying them alcohol, but it’s apparently being provided by Lydia’s mom — along with strict rules involving water and more water. Though, with most of the partygoers unable to get drunk, it's not like there's much to worry about.

He's just climbing out of his car beside the already packed driveway when the rattle of Stiles’ jeep approaches and pulls in to park at the side of the road behind him. His heart clenches as he turns round.  Stiles’ excitement is palpable as he jumps out, eyes lit by a beaming smile, and Derek barely notices Scott and Kira climbing out behind him.

He stands frozen. An incubus’ illusion can’t extend beyond the skin, so his Jeep proves it’s the real Stiles, but he can’t forget how the incubus had managed to so easily override what his senses had been telling him. The memory of having him close enough to count every eyelash and feel his breath skimming his cheeks has been haunting him ever since it happened. He knows what his lips feel like now even if they weren’t _his_ and he can’t take that back, can’t stop his skin crawling with shame at how violated Stiles would feel if he ever found out.

Derek can’t hold his gaze. Instead, he stalks up the front path after no more than a nod and leaves the front door ajar when Lydia answers at the bell. He’s not managed to even utter a ‘Happy Birthday’ before something pink and fizzy is thrust into his hand, a cocktail umbrella skewering a cherry balanced on the edge of the glass. Erica is unable to stop giggling at the picture he makes and he doesn’t mind humouring her.

He hands Lydia a card containing a gift voucher for a hair product brand he’s never heard of that her mom told him to get and she sets it down on top of a small pile of presents on a cabinet beside the door.

Natalie is just heading up the stairs with some cartons of Chinese takeout as Derek steps through to the kitchen, keen to leave the kids to their fun. She offers him a cheerful greeting and, not for the last time, he's grateful to have another parent in the know who doesn’t frown at the older — exonerated — murder suspect hanging around their children.

Derek doesn’t plan to stay long either, and not just because of his turmoil over the incubus. It’s times like these when he notices the age difference between them despite how they’ve had to mature with everything they face on a day to day basis. He knows they need this, and they need it without being under the strict, watchful eye of their Alpha.

He could also do without the reminder that it isn’t Stiles’ eighteenth they’re celebrating, that there’s still a couple of months to wait before he can finally make his intentions known, all the while having to fend off an incubus on the prowl.

At the kitchen counter, Allison and Isaac are mixing up some revolting concoction of whatever they can get their hands on and Derek hurries to slip through to the living room before they can rope him into being their guinea pig. He joins Boyd and Jackson on the plush couches where they're already nursing beers and tries not to listen to the ruckus that erupts in the kitchen with Stiles’ arrival. Derek is not surprised at all to see him snatch up the drink Allison and Isaac had been inventing and take an over-enthusiastic gulp.

Those in the kitchen eventually pile into the lounge and squeeze onto the sofas, Derek ending up pressed between Stiles and the arm. His free hand clenches into a fist at the press of heat from Stiles’ body all down his side and he digs his nails into skin, wishing he could use his claws.

The one pink drink is all Derek allows himself before heading to the kitchen to return the glass and catch Lydia where she's pouring herself another so he can say goodbye without drawing attention.

She's already swaying a little, proof the party started a little earlier for her, and she sighs as she wraps her arms around his middle and sags against him. Out of habit, he pats her on the head, and it speaks to how much she’s already drunk that she doesn’t scold him for messing up her hair.

He slips out the front door into the night during a bout of raucous laughter from the living room, clicking it softly shut behind him. They’ll notice his absence but he knows they understand and at least appreciate him making an appearance, however brief.

He takes a deep breath of the night air. For the last two days, he’s felt like the stink of the incubus has been caught in his nostrils and no amount of fresh air is able to shift it, even now. He sighs, trudges down the front path to his car lit by an overhead streetlamp and is just reaching for the handle when-

“Derek!”

His gaze flickers up to Stiles coming towards him across the front lawn, eyes sparkling. He starts to smile in spite of himself, but then he takes in the too wide stripes on his green and blue plaid shirt and his jaw tightens.

“Hmm. Not quite right?” the incubus asks, plucking at the collar. “It's the best I had at such short notice.”

Derek bristles at the implication that he must have spied on Stiles to copy his outfit. _Creep_.

“What if someone sees you?” Derek hisses.

The incubus just shrugs. “It won’t be him they’ll see.”

Derek had forgotten for a moment that incubi take on the visage of what someone finds the most attractive, appearing different to every person who looks at them.

“Though, I do wonder who loverboy would see if he looked out the window right now. Tall, dark and broody? Or fiery strawberry-blonde?”

Derek ignores the jibe; incubi can’t look like women, no matter a person’s preferences.

“I said if I saw you again I’d rip out your throat.”

One corner of the incubus’ mouth quirks up in a smile and he tilts his head back, exposing the pale column of his neck. “I won’t stop you.”

Derek hisses through fangs trying to lengthen. “ _Stop. Following me_ ,” he growls, and wrenches open his car door. He slams it shut behind him and flicks on the locks before the incubus can decide to follow; he doesn’t want its stench soaking into his car too.

He heads straight out of town, planning on just a short drive to relieve some of his aggression but doesn’t get back to the loft until the early hours of the morning.

 

*

 

On rare quiet nights in Beacon Hills when Derek’s thoughts get too loud, Jungle is the perfect reprieve. He doesn’t like to think about how something about that is kind of fucked up, how he’s so accustomed to the constant threat of death that it’s more unsettling when nothing’s trying to kill him or the people he cares about.

Derek has no qualms intimidating a patron out of a bar stool, and he sits for hours letting the thunder of the bass and the beat consume him.

He doesn’t dance. Music has never affected him in that way, instead being something he’s always soaked in instead of released. Not like Stiles.

Since the kanima incident, Derek has spotted him there at least once a month. He wasn’t going to tell him he shouldn’t be there. He knew how teenagers reacted when told they couldn’t do something and Stiles fell on the extreme end of that spectrum. Instead, he always claimed a spot that gave a clear view of him to keep an eye out for any trouble - while making sure Stiles never spotted him in return. Usually, his flailing limbs are given a wide berth as he dances like someone possessed, a fact he either hasn't noticed or doesn't give a damn about, and Derek spends most of his night burying his laughter in his drink. On the rare occasion someone isn’t put off by Stiles’ wild dancing, a flash of his eyes is all he needs to have them turning tail.

Stiles has never tried to hook up with anyone though. He seems more than content with just the dancing, always ending the evening flushed and sweaty. Derek doesn’t spend the rest of his night thinking about what it would be like to go home with him.

But today, when Derek turns to cast his eyes over the crowd, he almost chokes on his drink.

Stiles is surrounded by a crowd of men, all with eyes on him and all vying for his attention in return. He’s wrapping every one around his little finger with just a look or a touch.

But no. This isn’t Stiles. There’s no enthusiastic flailing or stray elbows, no blinding grin. Instead, the incubus is fluid, in sync with all the men around him and in a much more revealing wardrobe. He’s mesmerising.

Despite the realisation it’s just the incubus, Derek’s claws are still threatening to emerge at all the hands running over him, only able to see Stiles being groped, no matter that they’re each seeing their own fantasy.

The incubus glances over his shoulder, sees Derek and smirks. Derek’s stomach still swoops at having Stiles look at him that way even though he knows it’s only an imposter. He tears his eyes away and turns back to his drink.

“Did you really think I’d give up that easily?”

Derek can’t help the way his shoulders hunch at the incubus’ approach. He narrows his eyes and casts his sideways glance around the room, wondering why this incubus is so keen on hounding him when he has a whole horde of willing meals to choose from.

The incubus must be able to read the question on his face because he smiles, the one Stiles uses when he knows something no one else does, and leans in close.

“Do you know how rare a feast it is to feed on the energy of an Alpha pining after their mate?” He takes a deep breath, pupils dilating, and a cloud of the incubus’ potent arousal swirls around Derek. It brings back flashes of kiss-swollen lips, of Stiles arching under his hands, of honey and _Derek_ and mate.

He chugs down the rest of his drink and slams the glass onto the bar almost hard enough to smash it. As he battles his way through the crowd of writhing bodies to the exit, he’s sure he hears a dark chuckle.

He doesn’t look back.

 

*

 

The problem with Beacon Hills is it can never be quiet for long. He hears from the Sheriff there have been reports of a new drug on the market that brings the user’s hallucinations to life, and though John’s managed to convince bystanders they were under the influence of the drug too, his deputies are starting to get baffled.

Accounts so far include seeing people shooting sparks from their fingers, levitating and, in one case, even conjuring a pink elephant that trampled a few cars. Luckily, the corporeal hallucinations disappear when the drug wears off. It means the Sheriff didn't need to try and explain the exotic pachyderm spotted wandering down main street at two in the morning to the relevant authorities. It’s a miracle no one's been hurt so far.

Fae magic is Derek’s first guess and he knows the best place to start looking for the culprit. It just happens to be somewhere he’s been avoiding ever since he found out the incubus has made it its feeding ground.

The plan was to take care of it himself but Stiles 'accidentally’ overheard while the Sheriff was bringing Derek up to speed and, before he knew it, the task had become a pack outing. He doesn't bother trying to put his foot down; they’ll just sneak in the back with or without him.

As soon as they’re inside the club, the rest of the pack scamper off like kids at a fair despite Derek specifically ordering them to stay close. He turns his eyes to the ceiling and shakes his head before attempting a calming deep breath and seeking out the nearest shadowy corner in search of his quarry. It’s no surprise he finds the incubus first.

He’s halfway through his search of the edges of the club when a hand presses to the wall in front of him, halting his progress, and he looks to the ceiling in his second eyeroll of the night. The attitude drops away, along with his jaw, when he looks at the incubus crowding close. There’s a light sheen of sweat over his collarbones, his cheeks flushed from exertion and his bright eyes are hooded like he's already fed but is still hungry for more.

He leans in to speak into Derek’s ear, but to say what, he doesn’t find out. His eyes snap to the real Stiles barging across the crowded dancefloor towards them, a determined set to his jaw.

“Trust you to find more trouble,” Stiles yells over the music once he reaches Derek’s side, pinning the incubus with narrowed eyes. “We can’t leave you alone for a second!” He’s already patting at his pockets for something. “What kills shapeshifters? Silver?”

Derek grabs his wrist when he sees the flash of a blade emerging from one of his pockets.

“Put it away,” he grunts. As much as he’d like to run the infuriating creature through with it himself, he’s not actually a threat to anyone. Unlike myths would have people believe, an incubus feeding on a person’s life force never leads to death, just mutual satiation.

Stiles still looks suspicious but he does leave the knife in his pocket. The incubus takes it as his chance to melt back into the crowd.

“Don’t come crying to me when someone with your face robs a jewellery store and lands you in cuffs again,” Stiles sniffs, wagging a finger under his nose.

Derek’s head snaps round from where he’d been scanning the area for the incubus’ retreating figure, mouth agape. “With my…” He can barely breathe. But if to Stiles the incubus looked like him, it means...

Stiles tilts his head, squinting. “What?” he shouts, waving a hand at his ears. “Human, remember?”

“It’s nothing,” Derek shouts back, but his heart is pounding in his chest and he thinks he might need to sit down.

Stiles still looks suspicious but he seems to think better of pushing it. “Come on. The quicker we sort this out, the quicker we can dance!”

Derek’s feet move to follow Stiles of their own accord, the rest of him still scrambled. But right now isn’t the time for an internal freak out. He needs to deal with the fae - who Lydia’s probably making cry already - and keep the fact the shapeshifter is actually an incubus a secret from Stiles so he doesn’t realise what he’s just admitted.

On an impulse, he reaches out and grasps Stiles hand so as not to get separated in the crowd. Stiles squeezes back. For the first time in years, he feels lighter than air.

 

*

 

With the Fae taken care of and Stiles’ itch to dance scratched for at least a few weeks, Derek gives Jungle a wide berth. Instead, he finds a little bar on the other side of town with a very different clientele. It’s expensive, but quiet, which are probably closely related.

Soothing jazz piano tinkles from the speakers, something he’d initially thought pretentious but has since found eases his thoughts like a trip to Jungle would, just in a different way.

It’s especially fun knocking back Long Island Iced Tea after Long Island Iced Tea and watching the bartender grow increasingly baffled at his lucidity. He makes sure to walk home though. If the bartender happened to spot him getting in his car after all those drinks, he’d become a nuisance and if he got pulled over for any reason, a breathalyser would still put him off the charts, no matter his sobriety. He doesn’t mind it. A quiet walk in the early hours is the perfect conclusion to his evening, even if he does run into a hostile creature of the night more often than not.

Still, apart from the disturbing time he was approached by a middle-aged couple trying to seduce him for a threesome, his evenings at the bar have at least remained largely undisturbed.

He’s sobered in the few weeks since Stiles’ unwitting confession. After the initial buoyancy, it wasn’t difficult to remind himself that Stiles finding him attractive doesn’t actually mean anything, even less when he takes into account that incubi can only take the form of men. If a succubus came to town, who’s to say she wouldn’t be a better match for Stiles’ preference? But if he’s Stiles’ ultimate ideal in a man… that has to mean something.

Right?

He’s just ordered his fourth drink of the night when the door opens behind him and the breeze it lets in tells him who it is without the need to look. He heaves a mental sigh. So much for peace and quiet, though he supposes it’s a miracle his hiding place remained a secret for this long.

“No,” Derek says, without turning round and before the incubus can take even two steps inside the door.

The incubus’ pheromones are quick to fill the smaller space and it’s more of struggle to fight off the effects when it isn’t muddled by the warring scents of Jungle. But Derek clings to his new knowledge, to _his_ Stiles, and it's not difficult to deny this bastardisation.

The incubus huffs after what Derek is sure is the sound of grinding teeth. Running into Stiles that night at Jungle has really messed up his plans.

“Derek—” the incubus says, Stiles’ voice begging and though it makes him shiver at the memories of his name breathed into his ear, he’s resolute.

“No,” he repeats and goes back to his drink.

After a few seconds, the door slams and Derek smiles, allowing himself a little toast of triumph.

 

*

 

Derek stands at two minutes to midnight staring at the calendar stuck to his fridge. Stiles’ birthday is ringed three times (courtesy of Erica) and he traces the line with his finger, one, two, three.

The day he's been waiting for is finally about to arrive, but he's still not entirely sure how to tackle things from here on.

He's not going to do anything bold like ask for a date and sweep him off his feet. Over the years, he’s made sure to keep it a secret that Stiles is his mate and done his utmost to conceal every and any sign of attraction. Doing either of those things might catch Stiles off guard and he wants to ease him into the idea that there could be more there, more between them.

The wolf is urging him to go to Stiles immediately, but he tamps it down. The best course of action would be to see him tomorrow at a more reasonable hour, preferably with no one else present. So far, he's done his utmost to keep him at arm's length and to never allow the two of them to be alone, but spending time together one on one now might be the way to break down the wall Derek has painstakingly built.

The clock strikes midnight and his agonising over when to see him is for nought when he hears the approaching judder of Stiles’ jeep. Derek crosses to the window and watches as it pulls to a stop in its usual spot, Stiles climbing out to stare up at the building for a few long seconds.

If Derek concentrates, he can hear the familiar pitter-patter of his heart, elevated slightly with nerves. With the presence of the jeep, the heartbeat and then the familiar sound of his footsteps as he heads inside, Derek knows he can’t be a visitor in disguise, though it still conjures an uncomfortable memory.

Unlike the incubus, Stiles pauses outside of Derek’s door and Derek can feel his own heartbeat starting to match Stiles’, his breath coming quicker. He can’t think why Stiles would be here, now of all times, beside his own wild hopes spiralling out of control in his head.

He slides the door open and Stiles stares, eyes wide with fear and maybe a little bit of hope. Derek’s probably just projecting his own feelings, but something inside him still goes loose when he sees him there, as it always does whenever he’s present.

Stiles’ fingers twitch at his sides and he wets dry lips. The incubus could never be this convincing.

“So. I’m eighteen now.”

Stiles doesn’t get to finish whatever speech he’d planned out. At those few words, the wolf can’t be held at bay any longer and Derek relinquishes his control to it, reaching out to curl his hand around Stiles’ nape and pull him in — slowly — for a kiss. He’s half-expecting Stiles to leap back and demand to know what he’s doing, but there’s no resistance despite the chance Derek gives him, just a soft _Oh_ and then their lips meet.

He’s imagined what it would be like to kiss Stiles hundreds of times, but after the incubus’ trick, he felt like the moment had been stolen from him. But a kiss from this Stiles, the real Stiles, is hesitant unlike the incubus’ hunger, chaste instead of consuming.

Stiles’ eyes remain closed when Derek pulls away.

“Happy Birthday,” Derek whispers.

Stiles’ eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly in confusion. “I thought- I thought I was going to have to do more convincing. Like, I was ready to whip out charts and diagrams to explain why we’d be good together, but you—”

Derek smiles and swipes his cheek up one side of Stiles’ neck, scenting him. “But I...?”

“Scott’s always said you look at me funny—”

Derek straightens to look him in the eye and raises an eyebrow. “Funny?”

“Like— Like you can’t not?”

Stiles cheeks are pink and Derek can feel his own ears heating up.

“And you know what Erica’s like.”

Derek huffs a laugh. He knows exactly what Erica’s like.

“Even Boyd said I should maybe make a trip over here and if Boyd thinks something’s a good idea, there’s not really anything to argue.”

It seems Derek hasn’t been as stealthy as he thought.

“A pretty good pair, right?”

Derek ducks his head and smiles. Matt had no idea how close to the truth he’d been. “Yeah.”

“I did make the right decision though, didn’t I? I thought… I’d _hoped_ you were just waiting until I was eighteen. I know how important that would be to you, to wait—”

Derek feels a rush of affection and buries his face in Stiles’ throat. Stiles’ hand cradles the back of his neck and he waits patiently for Derek to steady himself. He’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of the way their scents mingle and intertwine.

“Does your dad know where you are?” he asks as he finally draws away. If they’re really going to do this, he wants to start on the right foot, no secrets.

“He said you’re invited for dinner tomorrow. Or, you know, today. You know, if you said yes to—” he waves his arms around, “—this.”

Derek covers Stiles’ mouth with his hand before he can keep on. “Yes.”

Stiles smiles against his fingers and tugs them aside. “He also tried to give me ‘the talk’ again and shoved a box of condoms at me then pushed me out the door, so.”

Stiles hangs his bag off one shoulder and makes to dig around inside but Derek lays a hand on his wrist. Stiles’ breath catches and he stares up at him through his eyelashes, mouth hanging open in that infuriating, tempting way of his.

“There’s no rush.”

Stiles’ gaze softens and he presses his lips together in a private smile. “Yeah.”

They’ll wait until Stiles is really ready, and when Derek’s ready too. Instead, they spend the night cuddled in Derek’s bed, the volume of the TV turned down low and barely watching.

“I always imagined there’d be a lot less clothes but,” Stiles presses his face to Derek’s neck, his voice small. “This is nice.”

“It is,” Derek agrees, rubbing a reassuring hand up and down Stiles’ back.

Derek isn’t going to tell him he’s his mate yet. It’s way too soon to start talking about _for life_ and Stiles is still too young. Maybe in time he’ll realise that this, with Derek, isn’t what he really wants and he should never feel obligated to stay with him. But Derek doesn’t need to worry about that for now. Stiles is here with him in this moment and that’s all that matters.

They fall asleep not long after but not before Derek asks, “How could you tell which was me? That night at Jungle?”

Stiles is quiet for a moment as he remembers which night Derek means and answers through a yawn. “Your clothes were different. And he didn’t do a very good job in the face department. His beard was too thick.”

Derek bites at his lip to hold in a laugh. Looks like he’ll be leaving his razor in the cabinet for a week or two.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://kaistrex.tumblr.com) or at my fic rec blog [UnderappreciatedSterek](http://underappreciatedsterek.tumblr.com)!


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